Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Some Hearts
A pebble in the water makes a ripple effect
Every action in this world will bear consequence
If you wade around forever you will surely drown
I see what's going down
“What the fuck is that?” I pause in mid flow of grabbing a carton of milk out the fridge, my body tensing when I hear my boyfriend’s angry voice and I slowly, ever so slowly, turn to face the boy whom I currently live with.
“What’s what?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to look as innocent as possible as Brice storms into the kitchen, knocking the milk out of my hand as I go to take a sip straight out the carton. The cardboard container flies across the room and hits the wall, cream coloured liquid splashing across the bright red paint and pooling on the tiled floor.
“That... that... thing on your back!”
Spit flies into my face as Brice shouts at me causing me to cower into the oak cabinets that offer no comfort. I assume the ‘thing’ my boyfriend is referring to is the cherry tree tattoo I’d been doing a fairly good job at hiding for almost a week now. Brice hadn’t found it suspicious that I had been wearing jumpers in almost 100 degree weather. Well, no one ever said he was the brightest crayon in the box.
“You mean my tree?” I question innocently.
Sure, I knew Brice would get upset if he saw I had yet another piece of art inked on my pale skin but it was pretty. Besides I’m 19 and he can’t really tell me what to do even if I am living under his roof. Both my parents had been fine with it and it’s so pretty. Brice should really calm down.
“Is that thing real!?” Brice bellows and in response I roll my eyes, chewing nervously on my lip ring trying not to show my angered boyfriend just how afraid I am right now. It would only add fuel to the fire.
In truth, I’m terrified of Brice. He’s hit me more than a few times and nothing he ever says to me in nice. He’s always had a temper, and I’ve been at the receiving end of his fist enough that I should know not to piss him off. What can I say, maybe I like getting hit. I knew getting the tattoo would piss Brice off; yet, I had gone ahead and gotten it anyway. I must enjoy getting beaten.
“Yeah Brice, it’s real; I got a living cherry tree on my back. Don’t worry though, I’ll pick up the flowers that fall off,” I answer sarcastically. I know, I know, the sarcastic comment is not going to help me in the long run but it’s just kind who I am. I’m a sarcastic person.
“You cheeky little slut – you know what I fucking mean!” Brice roars, gripping me around the neck, making it terribly difficult to bring air to my lungs. I’m shoved into the cabinets, our faces inches from each other. I’m sure the terror could be seen in my eyes. There’s no point in trying to hide it.
Although I’d tried to pretend I wasn’t afraid before I can’t mask it, a whimper betraying me as my back is shoved even harder against the granite counter tops.
“Is it fucking real, you stupid bitch?!” Brice shouts causing me to squeeze my eyes shut so that I don’t start crying. Growling like a wounded animal I attempt to twist out of Brice’s death grip but to no avail. If anything I’ve only made him angrier than before.
“Yes! Jesus Christ! It’s fucking real okay!? I got it done a week ago and I’ve been hiding it from you using those jumpers! I’m sorry alright,” I answer back my voice raised at first but leveling off towards the end of my explanation. I don’t like be loud and aggressive. It’s just not who I am.
“You little shit!” Brice raged, throwing my tiny body across the small kitchen, causing me to hit the red wall with a hard thud, a fist hitting my multiple times in the face, and stomach. “I can’t believe you got more of that shit on your skin! Now how are you supposed to get a job and support me?! Don’t think you’re staying under my roof if you don’t pay your way! Don’t think fucking me is gonna keep you here either.”
I hiss in pain from where my side hit the tiled floor, from where Brice’s class ring has cut the skin of my cheek. Honestly I don’t understand what the big deal is. I can cover it up easily and it’s not like I got anything terribly ugly. It hurts to think that Brice won’t let me stay if I don’t get a job. I’ll be homeless. Sure I’ve got my mates in London who’ll take me in but…. A single tear pours down my face, mixing with the hot, sticky blood. This just causes Brice to laugh. I still don’t understand how one more simple tattoo could change everything.
“What the fuck is your problem!?” I demand, suddenly over come by a bought of bravery. Struggling to my feet, hand clasp around my ribs, I push Brice back with all my might. “It’s just a fucking tattoo! I’m 19 years old – you can’t tell me what to do anymore! Sure I might live under your roof but it doesn’t make you the fucking boss of me. I don’t give rat’s arse if we’re dating. I’m my own person!” I shout, glaring up at the man who, as much as I fear, I also respect. Yet, when his fist collides sharply with my jaw once more all that respect shatters as pain explodes across my already battered face. I’m done with it all; he's hurt me one too many times.
“Damn right I fucking can!” Brice all but yells as I fall back against the wall, tears streaming down my face, one hand on my jaw, the other arm still wrapped around my middle. “Whilst you live under my roof, whilst you are my fuck buddy you will do as you're damn well told!” Brice continues to rage, hitting me in various places as I continue to look up at him through blurry eyes.
“Fuck you.” I spit in his face a sob rising in my throat, aching as I try to keep it down. He can’t know how upset he’s made me. Crying is one thing, sobbing is another. “I am not your fuck buddy.” I growl, ramming my head into Brice’s chest, arms still wrapped around myself. Before Brice has time to react I rush out the door, slamming it loudly behind me.
I head to the park a few blocks from Brice’s house. I need to get away. The blood is still pouring from the cut on my cheek and no matter how much pressure I put on it, it just doesn't stop. I can feel my eye start to swell and every other place on my body aches. I hate him and what he does to me but, at the end of the day, I keep going back so in truth all this is my fault.
The park gate gives a squeal of protest as I push it open. A little red head turns her attention to me, eyes growing wide in fright before she hurries back over to her mum who gives me a disgusted stare. Fuck her. If she knew what I had been through today she would be a little more sympathetic.
Gently, I lower myself onto a swing, bending and unbending my legs, tears still flowing from my eyes, cascading down my face finally bouncing off the plastic wood chipped floor of the children’s park. I used to come here all the time with mum when I was younger.
My fingers seek out the only too familiar number of a boy I’d know since nappies. Frank Iero. He’s the one person I can actually trust to take me in and care for me. All my other friends would throw me out on my arse and tell me to grow the fuck up.
“Frankie, I’m at the park. Come and get me,” I sob into my mobile. “I need you Frankie.”
Tires screech, an engine is left idle, car doors slam and two sets of protective arms pick me up and carry my nearly limp body to the car. I’m numb. I don’t feel. Someone is gently stroking my cheek another grasping my hand, their palm sweaty. I don’t even care, dump me off a cliff and leave me for the wolves. I’d like it better that way.
“Imma take care of you dear. It’ll be alright,” Frankie coos as the entire world fades to black.
Every action in this world will bear consequence
If you wade around forever you will surely drown
I see what's going down
“What the fuck is that?” I pause in mid flow of grabbing a carton of milk out the fridge, my body tensing when I hear my boyfriend’s angry voice and I slowly, ever so slowly, turn to face the boy whom I currently live with.
“What’s what?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to look as innocent as possible as Brice storms into the kitchen, knocking the milk out of my hand as I go to take a sip straight out the carton. The cardboard container flies across the room and hits the wall, cream coloured liquid splashing across the bright red paint and pooling on the tiled floor.
“That... that... thing on your back!”
Spit flies into my face as Brice shouts at me causing me to cower into the oak cabinets that offer no comfort. I assume the ‘thing’ my boyfriend is referring to is the cherry tree tattoo I’d been doing a fairly good job at hiding for almost a week now. Brice hadn’t found it suspicious that I had been wearing jumpers in almost 100 degree weather. Well, no one ever said he was the brightest crayon in the box.
“You mean my tree?” I question innocently.
Sure, I knew Brice would get upset if he saw I had yet another piece of art inked on my pale skin but it was pretty. Besides I’m 19 and he can’t really tell me what to do even if I am living under his roof. Both my parents had been fine with it and it’s so pretty. Brice should really calm down.
“Is that thing real!?” Brice bellows and in response I roll my eyes, chewing nervously on my lip ring trying not to show my angered boyfriend just how afraid I am right now. It would only add fuel to the fire.
In truth, I’m terrified of Brice. He’s hit me more than a few times and nothing he ever says to me in nice. He’s always had a temper, and I’ve been at the receiving end of his fist enough that I should know not to piss him off. What can I say, maybe I like getting hit. I knew getting the tattoo would piss Brice off; yet, I had gone ahead and gotten it anyway. I must enjoy getting beaten.
“Yeah Brice, it’s real; I got a living cherry tree on my back. Don’t worry though, I’ll pick up the flowers that fall off,” I answer sarcastically. I know, I know, the sarcastic comment is not going to help me in the long run but it’s just kind who I am. I’m a sarcastic person.
“You cheeky little slut – you know what I fucking mean!” Brice roars, gripping me around the neck, making it terribly difficult to bring air to my lungs. I’m shoved into the cabinets, our faces inches from each other. I’m sure the terror could be seen in my eyes. There’s no point in trying to hide it.
Although I’d tried to pretend I wasn’t afraid before I can’t mask it, a whimper betraying me as my back is shoved even harder against the granite counter tops.
“Is it fucking real, you stupid bitch?!” Brice shouts causing me to squeeze my eyes shut so that I don’t start crying. Growling like a wounded animal I attempt to twist out of Brice’s death grip but to no avail. If anything I’ve only made him angrier than before.
“Yes! Jesus Christ! It’s fucking real okay!? I got it done a week ago and I’ve been hiding it from you using those jumpers! I’m sorry alright,” I answer back my voice raised at first but leveling off towards the end of my explanation. I don’t like be loud and aggressive. It’s just not who I am.
“You little shit!” Brice raged, throwing my tiny body across the small kitchen, causing me to hit the red wall with a hard thud, a fist hitting my multiple times in the face, and stomach. “I can’t believe you got more of that shit on your skin! Now how are you supposed to get a job and support me?! Don’t think you’re staying under my roof if you don’t pay your way! Don’t think fucking me is gonna keep you here either.”
I hiss in pain from where my side hit the tiled floor, from where Brice’s class ring has cut the skin of my cheek. Honestly I don’t understand what the big deal is. I can cover it up easily and it’s not like I got anything terribly ugly. It hurts to think that Brice won’t let me stay if I don’t get a job. I’ll be homeless. Sure I’ve got my mates in London who’ll take me in but…. A single tear pours down my face, mixing with the hot, sticky blood. This just causes Brice to laugh. I still don’t understand how one more simple tattoo could change everything.
“What the fuck is your problem!?” I demand, suddenly over come by a bought of bravery. Struggling to my feet, hand clasp around my ribs, I push Brice back with all my might. “It’s just a fucking tattoo! I’m 19 years old – you can’t tell me what to do anymore! Sure I might live under your roof but it doesn’t make you the fucking boss of me. I don’t give rat’s arse if we’re dating. I’m my own person!” I shout, glaring up at the man who, as much as I fear, I also respect. Yet, when his fist collides sharply with my jaw once more all that respect shatters as pain explodes across my already battered face. I’m done with it all; he's hurt me one too many times.
“Damn right I fucking can!” Brice all but yells as I fall back against the wall, tears streaming down my face, one hand on my jaw, the other arm still wrapped around my middle. “Whilst you live under my roof, whilst you are my fuck buddy you will do as you're damn well told!” Brice continues to rage, hitting me in various places as I continue to look up at him through blurry eyes.
“Fuck you.” I spit in his face a sob rising in my throat, aching as I try to keep it down. He can’t know how upset he’s made me. Crying is one thing, sobbing is another. “I am not your fuck buddy.” I growl, ramming my head into Brice’s chest, arms still wrapped around myself. Before Brice has time to react I rush out the door, slamming it loudly behind me.
I head to the park a few blocks from Brice’s house. I need to get away. The blood is still pouring from the cut on my cheek and no matter how much pressure I put on it, it just doesn't stop. I can feel my eye start to swell and every other place on my body aches. I hate him and what he does to me but, at the end of the day, I keep going back so in truth all this is my fault.
The park gate gives a squeal of protest as I push it open. A little red head turns her attention to me, eyes growing wide in fright before she hurries back over to her mum who gives me a disgusted stare. Fuck her. If she knew what I had been through today she would be a little more sympathetic.
Gently, I lower myself onto a swing, bending and unbending my legs, tears still flowing from my eyes, cascading down my face finally bouncing off the plastic wood chipped floor of the children’s park. I used to come here all the time with mum when I was younger.
My fingers seek out the only too familiar number of a boy I’d know since nappies. Frank Iero. He’s the one person I can actually trust to take me in and care for me. All my other friends would throw me out on my arse and tell me to grow the fuck up.
“Frankie, I’m at the park. Come and get me,” I sob into my mobile. “I need you Frankie.”
Tires screech, an engine is left idle, car doors slam and two sets of protective arms pick me up and carry my nearly limp body to the car. I’m numb. I don’t feel. Someone is gently stroking my cheek another grasping my hand, their palm sweaty. I don’t even care, dump me off a cliff and leave me for the wolves. I’d like it better that way.
“Imma take care of you dear. It’ll be alright,” Frankie coos as the entire world fades to black.
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